


A Minor Distraction

by brilligspoons



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/F, Mission Fic, Spies & Secret Agents, Super Soldier Serum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-18
Updated: 2014-10-18
Packaged: 2018-02-21 15:55:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2473919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brilligspoons/pseuds/brilligspoons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rumors about an organization experimenting with the super soldier serum bring Peggy Carter to Russia, where she meets a young factory worker named Natalia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Minor Distraction

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rekall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rekall/gifts).



> This fic combines MCU!Peggy, Natasha's early comics origins, and a very loose interpretation of the thief/assassin prompt. There's also some implied Peggy/Gabe Jones in there. I hope you like it! :)

Peggy Carter is not in Leningrad. Technically.

 _Technically_ , Peggy is staying in a hotel in Rome just outside Vatican City while she recuperates from a minor injury she received during a weapons demonstration put on near Lyon by her old friend Howard Stark. The hotel is a bit more upscale than she'd normally choose for herself (gold leaf trim, jade vases full of gorgeous fresh flowers, a bed large enough to fit an entire football team if she were so inclined), but Howard, as an apology, is footing the bill and insists on the location. They're old friends from their war days, of course, so the gesture is perhaps overly generous but not entirely surprising.

("I have to head back to D.C. for a few meetings," Gabe had said to her as he handed her a small white envelope that she immediately folded in half and slipped into a hidden pocket inside her vest, "and I'll be in London for most of the following week, but Jacques will check in with you tomorrow around noon."

"You're all too kind. We should catch up once you're back from London," Peggy had replied, and within twelve hours she'd tucked herself into a freight train car full of sheep heading to Vilnius.)

 _Technically_ , Peggy's been resting, occasionally hobbling out on her bad leg into the city for fresh air and a bite to eat at one of the many restaurants in the area, but never going more than a hundred yards or so in any direction from the hotel. She's enjoying her unexpected holiday, though. It's her first in several years, and Rome is warm and inviting, an atmosphere she hadn't experienced during any of her previous visits.

(Peggy hates sheep. She hopes her body double is enjoying Howard's generosity — what a dreadful waste of money otherwise.)

Regardless, if Peggy is in Rome, there's no way she can also be in Russia. She couldn't have hitched a ride from Vilnius to Klaipeda with a farmer and then taken a boat from there to Leningrad. There's certainly no way she could be staking out a suspected Soviet training facility and laboratory on Vasilyevsky Island, either.

***

'Velta Liepiené,' on the other hand, has just moved into a new apartment block on the island, a few hundred feet from the facility.

Velta isn't Peggy's best undercover persona to date, not by a long shot. She didn't have nearly as much time or enough resources to create the sort of thorough background she normally likes to have on missions like this, and details surrounding the mission itself were rather...sparse. Too sparse for her taste, really, but the few facts included in the original brief suggest the Soviets are playing around with their own super soldier serum, and since they can't afford to ignore that sort of thing, here she is.

Peggy spends the first few days on Vasilyevsky inquiring after possible work, laughing off comments about her atrocious accent by explaining that she's newly arrived from a small village in middle-of-nowhere Latvia and gently implying that she's recently lost both her husband and only child to illness. It seems to go over well enough. She makes a few friends, does her share of the chores, and, after a week of keeping her head down and fitting in as much as possible, someone points her in the right direction.

Well, _a_ direction.

"Speak with Natalia at the factory," Alexei, the middle-aged man who lives with his elderly mother and aunts two flats above Peggy's, tells her one morning. The other tenants sitting with them on the front step of the building nod in agreement. "She is new, you are new. You can bond over that. Maybe that will help."

Peggy thanks him and walks over to the building not too long after their conversation, internally sighing with relief at finally having an excuse to approach the building. It takes a bit of poking around to find the entrance, and while she searches, Peggy wonders who this _Natalia_ is and why, if Alexei and the rest of their neighbors know her, she hasn't met her yet. Vasilyevsky isn't so large that she wouldn't notice someone everyone seems to know at least in passing.

She's still pondering this anomaly when she finds the front door and walks inside to find the most beautiful woman she's ever seen leaning against the wall behind a small wood desk in an otherwise empty reception area.

"I — hello," Peggy says, barely remembering to say it in Russian before the word exits her mouth.

The woman (tall, shapely, red-haired, and so, _so_ lovely) quirks the corners of her mouth up into the merest hint of a smile. "Hello," she replies. Her voice is deep and smooth, and Peggy wasn't even aware that was a _something_ for her, but she's feeling ever so slightly weak at the knees, and —

"Can I help you with something?"

"Yes!" Peggy says, shaking herself. "Yes, sorry. I was told to ask here for Natalia? For work?"

"I'm Natalia, but I'll let you call me Natasha," Natalia — _Natasha_ , dear god — says. "As it happens, we're in need of someone who can run and maintain a very...sensitive piece of equipment for extended periods of time." Her eyes dart down to Peggy's hands and then back up to her face. "You look like you might be good with your fingers."

Peggy's mind goes perfectly blank for a moment. There's no mistaking Natasha's meaning, and while Peggy isn't exactly averse to rendezvous with other women, she's used to doing the feeling-out herself. No one's ever flirted with her so blatantly.

It's _exhilarating_.

"I'm a quick study," Peggy replies, hoping her tone reflects even a tenth of the warmth pooling in her belly right now, "and I'm always willing to practice until I get it right."

Natasha finally allows a full smile to stretch across her face, and Peggy returns with one of her own. The mission is suddenly far more interesting than she expected it would be.

***

The machine Peggy's new coworkers train her to run is located in the center of the building, surrounded by fifty or so other men and women all diligently applying themselves to their assigned tasks. It's not the most ideal placement in the room for someone whose sole purpose is to spy and steal secrets, but it eventually works out in her favor. Over the course of her first week, Peggy witnesses five groups of ten men dressed in prison rags ("Deserters," one woman whispers to her when she quietly inquires) led through a doorway directly in front of her work station; none of them come back out during the day shift, and Peggy's not naive enough to think they might be released at night. It seems almost too obvious, but nothing else about the factory screams anything but above the board operations.

As she watches the sixth group in as many days shuffle across the floor toward the doors, Peggy realizes she can't look this particular gift horse in the mouth any longer.

Her shift goes off the clock at six sharp. Normally she would immediately make her way back to her flat and share supper with some of her neighbors, but Peggy takes her time gathering her coat and gloves that evening, patiently waiting for the other workers to leave the building. Finally, thinking she's alone, she closes her locker door as soundlessly as she can and turns around, only to find Natasha standing close by.

Peggy gasps and jumps back against the locker in surprise. "Natasha! Sorry, I didn't realize anyone was still he- behind me." She internally swears at herself for tripping over the words, and then adds a few more curses into the mix for not noticing Natasha's presence in the first place.

"My apologies," Natasha says, though she doesn't look apologetic in the slightest, "only I saw you lingering and decided to take a chance."

"A chance?" Peggy asks as she recovers her footing and her breath. Her window of opportunity is basically gone, and she can feel a headache coming on already.

Rather than answer her, Natasha moves forward and crowds Peggy back against the lockers until they're pressed together. She pushes her hands into Peggy's open coat, resting them high on Peggy's waist, just underneath her bustline. The pressure makes Peggy gasp again, sharper and higher than before, and another, even more strangled noise escapes her when Natasha's thumbs trail across the undersides of her breasts.

"On you," Natasha whispers, her lips pressing and catching against the corner of Peggy's mouth as she forms the words. "Most of our female comrades would have pushed me away by now. You, on the other hand —"

Peggy cuts her off with a soft kiss. She ends it almost as quickly as she started, but Natasha chases her into another, warmer and fuller and _promising_. One hand trails further up Peggy's side until it's practically cupping her breast, fingers moving slowly to trace over her nipple through the layers of her shirt and underclothes. An involuntary shiver travels like lightning up and down her spine, and she arches up into Natasha's body and is rewarded with a firmer, more exploratory touch.

They don't speak much after that.

***

The desk isn't really big enough for them to lie next to each other, but Peggy curls up half on top of Natasha as they catch their breath. It's been a long time since she and Gabe have had more than a few minutes to themselves, and she's willing to admit that she's missed having someone around who can keep up with her in bed. Peggy only regrets that she won't be able to see Natasha again after tonight.

And with that sobering thought, Peggy decides to take advantage of the situation and press forward with her mission. It's not ideal with Natasha still in the building, but Jacques is supposed to contact her in a day to check her progress. Might as well wrap it up completely and go home. Thankfully, Natasha seems to be dozing off. Peggy presses a gentle kiss to her collarbone before slipping out from under the arm keeping them close together and setting herself back down on the floor. As she searches for her clothes, Natasha rolls onto her side and watches her through slitted eyes.

"Everything alright?" she asks.

"Of course," Peggy replies, pausing in the middle of buttoning up her shirt to give her another kiss. "I left something in the workroom earlier. We should also pick up all these files and things from the floor. Who knows what Comrade Ilyin would think if he were to find them all over the place when he comes in tomorrow morning."

Natasha lets out a low, rough laugh that makes Peggy want to climb back on the desk and start all over again. "He would be far angrier about the mess than the act that precipitated it, I think." She stretches and winks at Peggy when she catches her staring. "Go find your things, and then I'll walk you home."

"I'll only be a moment," Peggy promises.

And, in her defense, Peggy really only means to be a moment. She's not even sure if she'll be able to get through the doors, let alone find anything more incriminating than a semi-secret Russian prison complex (honestly, it wouldn't be the first time). Still, she has a responsibility to see the mission through, regardless of how lovely and warm a distraction Natasha has proven to be.

The doors are only chained and locked, though, so she easily picks the lock and places the chains soundlessly on the ground before squaring her shoulders and heading in. The corridor she finds herself in is bare and dimly lit, but she makes out the shape of another set of doors at the other end. Those aren't locked at all, and Peggy spares herself a moment to wonder at the lax security. It's not like the Russians to not have everything shut up tight with at least two guards, and Peggy starts to suspect that the rumors her mission is based on are just that.

What lies beyond the second set of doors, however, makes Peggy immediately retract that suspicion.

It's a lab. To be more precise, it's a lab that looks enough like the one Erskine and Howard developed to change Steve into a super soldier that Peggy has to stop and close her eyes for a moment. She reminds herself that she is in Russia, not Brooklyn, and it's 1962, not 1942.

When she opens her eyes again, she feels a little less like the rug's been pulled out from under her. She takes a closer look at the equipment. It all looks very rough, like whoever put it together either only had a vague idea of what it should look like, or they only had a short amount of time in which to build it. Both are equally likely in Peggy's mind, but it doesn't explain what it's all doing here in the first place.

As she's pondering that, Peggy starts going through the single filing cabinet pushed into one corner of the room. All four drawers are packed with thick manila folders, and each folder is labeled with a name and a serial number of sorts. She flips through a few from each drawer, but they look like standard medical records. Peggy sighs and rests her forehead against the cabinet. Nothing about this makes sense to her. Why would someone go through the trouble of putting all of this together for a simple medical facility, secretive or not?

On a whim, Peggy opens the bottom drawer again and pulls out a random folder, one she doesn't think she looked through before. The name label reads "Semyon Aristov," serial number 24602, and the first page in the folder is different from the others. It's a letter signed by Semyon Aristov, or someone with the same name as him. The handwriting is messy, and combined with the Cyrillic lettering that Peggy still trips over from time to time and some of the colloquialisms, it's hard to make out exactly what this Aristov person is saying. A few words and phrases catch her attention — _willing to do my part for the advancement of our armies_ ; _have already suffered much and emerged stronger in spirit for it_ ; _the success of our enemies in the last war_ — and this, she thinks, is maybe what she came here to find.

That's when she notices the smell. It rolls over her suddenly in a wave, and it's so thick and rancid that she gags and coughs. Peggy draws back from the cabinet, dropping Aristov's file down on top of the others in that drawer, and the smell relents a little. She takes a deep breath and moves forward again, wondering where it came from. A few feet from the cabinet there's another door she hadn't tried yet where the scent is stronger, and when Peggy twists the handle she's surprised when it opens immediately.

Only a second later she wishes it hadn't, because there's a pile of bodies in varying states of decomposition just behind it.

"Oh my god," she whispers.

Something hits her head just then, and she blacks out.

***

When she wakes up, Peggy is sitting in a wooden chair in the middle of the lab. Her wrists are tied behind her, and her ankles are bound the legs of the chair. Her captors haven't bothered to blindfold her, so she opens her eyes to find three men in white lab coats peering down at her, and six armed guards positioned around the room. She doesn't recognize any of their faces.

"Good evening, comrade," one of the scientists says to her. "We were told you might cause us trouble when you first started working here, but we didn't think it would be this soon."

"I was on a tight schedule," Peggy replies. The time to be coy is well past her now.

One of the other scientists produces a syringe full of something clear and takes a few steps toward Peggy. "We are also on a schedule, of course, so we'll skip the pleasantries and dispose of you now."

Peggy frowns. "Not even an interrogation first?"

"While there are many people potentially interested in what we're doing here, very few organizations would spend the time and resources investigating," the first scientist says. "We can surmise from there who you are. No investigation necessary."

Perhaps not playing coy was a mistake after all. Peggy opens her mouth to say something, anything that will make the man with the syringe pause a moment longer, but before the words come to her, the door leading back to the corridor swing open. The guards are immediately on alert and draw their weapons but don't fire when they see Natasha walk inside the room.

For a split second, Peggy has the sinking feeling that she was set up, but Natasha's expression when she sees Peggy tied to a chair is one of horror.

"What's going on?" Natasha demands, eyes wide and guileless.

The third scientist gestures to the guards, and they start to converge on her. Peggy lurches forward against her bonds and lets out a shout of warning but sits back in surprise when the guard coming up behind Natasha hits the floor, a knife stuck in his jugular. The other guards also stop and stare, but Natasha just smiles and produces another small knife from her sleeve.

"Shall we?" she says.

It's over in a matter of a minute or so. The scientists attempt to run, but they barely make it out the door before Peggy hears three aborted screams, and then three thumps as their bodies fall to the floor. The five remaining guards are disabled and killed in short order, and rather neatly at that.

"I apologize for not reaching you before they did, Agent Carter," Natasha says as she cuts the ropes around Peggy's wrists and ankles. "Cleaning up our earlier mess took more time than I thought it would."

Peggy, for her part, isn't quite sure if she should kiss Natasha, or shoot her. Kiss her, she decides when Natasha kneels down to retrieve one of her knives. She may be an enemy, but the memory of her lips moving down Peggy's neck fuels the adrenaline still coursing through her veins.

"KGB?" Peggy hazards.

"Yes. We heard rumors of unsanctioned experiments occurring on the island, and I was sent to infiltrate and investigate." Natasha helps Peggy stand. "If it makes you feel better, I had no idea you'd entered the country until you arrived here. Your team should be commended."

"I'll pass on your compliments when I see them next."

Natasha wipes her hands off on her pants and settles her gaze on something behind Peggy. The filing cabinet must still be open. Peggy hopes the scientists didn't destroy anything while she was out, but when she turns around everything seems to be as she left it when she went to investigate the smell. Natasha comes to stand next to her.

"I'll make you a deal," she says. "You can take part of the evidence with you when you leave, along with my word that our government was not sponsoring any experiments here."

"To your knowledge," interrupts Peggy.

"To my knowledge," Natasha confirms. "I'll even arrange for this facility to be razed."

"And what do you get out of this deal, exactly?"

Natasha sways into Peggy's side, brushing their fingers together before catching them in a loose hold. "You postpone your extraction by another day and allow me to walk you home."

Peggy hesitates, thinks of the empty flat waiting for her a few blocks away and the similarly vacant house back in D.C., and then turns and smiles at Natasha. "Deal."


End file.
